Fawkes: 1, Hobbes: 0
by trascendenza
Summary: A slashy one shot. Fawkes and Hobbes in bed chatting and fooling around.


"You suck dick like some kind of Harry Houdini."

Fawkes, very comfortably sprawled out on Hobbes's queen size mattress (swanky for a guy who didn't claim to make much, he thought), didn't even open his eyes.

"And how exactly does Houdini suck cock?"

"—you know what I meant—"

"I mean, did ever get your cock sucked by him?"

"—you know that I never—"

"Actually, scratch that, sometimes the don't ask, don't tell policy is best when it comes to figuring out where you get your information." He fought not to smile. "Or did someone on HobbesNet dig up that little tidbit for you?"

Hobbes rolled over and gave Fawkes a swift jab in the side with his index finger.

"Ah ah ah ah ah. You know what I mean. The disappearing act. I mean one second, I got a guy down there, you know, doing his thing, and then _poof_, I look down and not only is _he_ gone, but so is my dick. Gives me the heebie jeebies, my friend. Don't look right."

"I do have a name, you know." Fawkes opened his eyes just long to give Hobbes a lick on the jaw. "I'm not just your piece of manmeat."

"Dammit, Fawkes. You're making me forget what I wanted to ask."

Fawkes reluctantly stopped nibbling at his jaw and sighed. "Something about quicksilver on your dick."

"Right, right. What's with that?"

"What do you mean, what's with it? It's what I do. That's what they pay me the booku bucks for, remember?"

Hobbes scowled. "They sure as hell ain't payin' you to waste that precious gland juice on me."

Fawkes grinned. "Yeah. But why should that stop me?" He rolled over so that the front of his body was aligned with Hobbes's, chest to chest, scissoring their thighs and propping himself up on one elbow. "Are you going to file a complaint, Hobbesy?"

They both knew that even though the quicksilver had freaked Hobbes out at first they'd come a long way from that first time when he'd run and locked himself in the bathroom the first time Fawkes had "stolen his family jewels."

Hobbes shuddered. "You will not hear a peep of complaint from me, my friend. Don't get me wrong, I love the fat man, but no way in hell he needs to know about Bobby Hobbes's sexy life. The Keepie, on the other hand—"

Fawkes jerked their hips closer. "Then what's the problem?"

Hobbes blinked. "Just tryin' a figure out your angle, is all."

"Who says I've got an angle?"

"Cons always got an angle."

"Maybe my angle is that I like to watch Bobby Hobbes squirm." He accessorized the statement with a quick and dirty jaunt of his hand downward.

"No way you're gonna crack me. I'm a professional, Fawkes, one-hundred-percent red-blooded professional." He leaned forward, smug, his breath warm on Fawkes's lips. "I thrive on the pressure."

Fawkes just smiled and quicksilvered the tip of Hobbes's dick.

Hobbes nearly jumped out of the bed.

"That's some impressive thriving, I must admit."

"You just can't tell a master at work when you see him, can you?" Hobbes's voice was a little strangled, probably because it had gotten stuck somewhere between his dick and his brain. His face paled about four shades later when he looked down and saw Fawkes's handiwork.

"'Fraid not." Darien moved his hand slowly and started leaving very concentrated swirls of icy silver on Hobbes's thighs and backside. Hobbes trembled under his fingertips, partially from the cold and partially from what inevitably followed this kind of teasing.

Fawkes delivered right on cue, ducking under the blanket and following the trails with his tongue, hot on freezing that created a sensation that was like liquid fire. He'd learned this particular trick one day when Kevin had asked him to test out of if quicksilver would transfer from one "receptor site" to another. Since he'd had no idea what that meant, he'd promptly licked a stripe down his arm and walked around with a hard-on for two hours afterward.

He grinned as he seared a path up Hobbes's dick and felt it twitch under his efforts.

There were occasional perks to being a lab rat, he'd found. Hobbes, naked and writhing under him had to be the best one so far. And once he started thinking about _that_, they were both enveloped in the thin layer of invisibility and that's when he really went to work.

Hobbes never did get around the thriving part.


End file.
